


My Time

by blue_shee



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Death, Feels, Gen, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Sad, Suicide Notes, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_shee/pseuds/blue_shee
Summary: ⚠️ trigger warning ⚠️
Kudos: 1





	My Time

**Author's Note:**

> big sad

***This whole thing deserves a trigger warning***

I’m only writing this so maybe somebody out there will know I exist. My name’s Savannah, and I should be dead.

I’ve been self-harming since I was 11. Big yikes. And of course, in the beginning, they were insignificant cuts. But letting any problem fester enough makes it grow. I think everyone knows how this goes. Things get worse, so on so forth.

At the ripe age of 12, I wrote my first suicide note. Had my weapon of choice or whatever in my hand too. But me being me, I chickened out. Yay. 

See, what I did was text my friends at an unreasonable hour and tell them. Like any great friend does, you know. Worry your friends to death, especially if they themselves are also tryna deal with some issues. Yet, they helped. Told me to throw the notes away. Cept I didn’t cuz I just... Just in case I ever felt that way again.

And after a year of silent suffering, I spilled my guts to my cousin. We both cried. I begged her to not tell anyone. She agreed, I gave her one of my least liked blades. Soothed her over, telling her that was all I had.

That didn’t work too well, surprisingly. One night I snuck to the bathroom, planning to have a grand old time. On her nights over, both of us have to share a room. So, she woke up, figured out what I was about to do, and chased me through the hall to the bathroom. I was ahead of her, so I got there first, and slammed the door in her face. 

I slipped the blade into my bra. Opened the door, she shoved her way in, and began inspecting the room looking for the razor. She gave up looking, and I knew for a fact she wasn’t about to undress me to get to it. I convinced her I got rid of it, and once again asked her to not tell anybody.

My cousin began doing inspections. Randomly, if we were alone, she pulled down my pants. Kinda awkward, not gonna lie. The first time was super unexpected, so of course I had cuts all over my thighs. But after that, I knew to move my habit somewhere else.

I moved to my shoulders, breasts, and ribs. All of the cuts were made so that my bra would cover them. Just in case, you know. If she started checking everywhere. But being uneducated in self-harm, she didn’t think to check elsewhere. 

It all fell apart, of course. Turns out, she had told somebody. My aunt, who I wasn’t particularly close to or anything. But my aunt brought it up during a family argument, I guess to get the upper hand, to make everyone shut up. I wasn’t around at that point, only for the aftermath. Walked downstairs, and boom. My brother on the couch, grandfather and grandmother sitting in their chairs. Yeah, that made my heart pound. 

I asked what was wrong. My grandma told me I needed to tell my mom. She was in the backyard, smoking. So, practically vibrating from the nerves, I faced her. 

And it was so underwhelming. She didn’t seem upset much at all, not sad or anything. So, I asked if her she suspected it all along.

She did. She suspected I was harming myself, yet never tried to check, to reach out, to help me. If someone suspected something that big, why would you never look further? 

I shoved the blame on my cousin. In my head, I made her the villain. She broke a promise, she ratted me out, she snitched-

Looking back on it now, I realize how much stress that puts on a teen, who was only 14. She was probably scrambling at what to do. She did the right thing, telling her mom.

So, I cleaned up my act! Now that literally everyone I lived with knew, it became much harder to sneak around.

You may have noticed, (or not), my dad has only just been mentioned. Cuz my whole childhood he was in prison, for sodomy and sexual abuse in the first degree. Whatever that means. So, anyway, you may be wondering why I brought him up...

When I turned 13, he was relefrom prison. Only 9 nine years in prison, lucky him. And for molesting me, my brother, my cousin, and according to my family, other strangers’ kids! Like hello, what???

...so, he was a free man. My mom liked that apparently. Only three days after his release, she had run off into the sunset with him. She was gonna go live with him, and she planned to drag me along. Sorta illegal, but sure?

I’ve been to Indiana once before, it being the only time I’ve ever left my glorious state I was raised in, Alabama. It also happened to be because my mom dragged me along. First grade, boom. Uprooted and taken to an entirely different and freezing state. It was all over an argument, my grandpa upset over my mom’s hoarding.

Oh yeah- did I mention? Haha, she had a hoarding problem. So anyways, I didn’t like Indiana much. First, we stayed with my other aunt. That wasn’t fun, I slept on a stupid futon. My mom soon abandoned that, and moved in with my other grandparents, from my dad’s side. Mom got into an argument wit them, and moved out. We settled in with some of her old friends. An older lady, and her son. 

It was the worst period of that time, staying with them. I slept on the couch, my only entertainment being an old NES, playing darts by myself, and cracking walnuts from the old lady’s tree with a hammer.

The old lady was a drinker, guzzling multiple cases of beer a day. Her son was probably a druggie or something, cuz last I heard of him, he was in jail. I was lonelier than ever, having no friends, and no neighborhood kids around. I still hate Indiana.

My mom seemed to realize that, and she had my grandma pick me up. I went back to Alabama without my mom. And for about six months, I hardly heard from her. I would go to my grandparents room almost nightly, getting in their bed and crying until I fell asleep.

My mom made amends, and came back after roughly six months. Things were okay again.

This time, things can’t ever go back the way they were. Mom chose my dad over me, and now she’s stuck in that decision. To this day.

My grandpa called CPS when he heard my mom planned to leave with me, to live with my dad. Instead, my mom went alone. But the damage was done, CPS had been alerted. 

You know, when my mom left again, I wasn’t surprised and I wasn’t even sad or distressed. I kinda shut down. The weeks after her leave, I had some annoying meetings with the two social workers that were assigned to me or whatever. All their advice, all their warnings went in one ear and out the other. I didn’t really care what they had to say.

The numbness eventually fell away, and I was... You know, slightly upset. So at 13, I relapsed. Take a guess who found out?

My annoying, snitch of a cousin. This time she didn’t hesitate. She immediately told my grandma, who had a look for herself (these new cuts were on my ankles). 

Counseling. Christian counseling. I despised the idea, and I planned to make it as bothersome for my counselor as possible. Except, first day I got there, she was duper nice. I liked her.

Counseling didn’t really stop me from hurting myself though. I just started using other less noticeable techniques. Things like hitting myself to make bruises on my wrists, hips, shins and also sticking myself with sewing pins. Wasn’t as satisfying as cutting, but it had to do in the moment.

We went to court, my grandparents got guardianship of me, my mom would only be allowed to visit if my grandparents gave permission. I continued with my counseling and meds.

I got a visit from my mom on my birthday, 14. The first day was spent with me helping her unload her storage unit hoarding mess into a truck so she could squirrel it away back home. I got frustrated that an entire day had been wasted, with us only working with my grandpa to unload my mom’s own mess. We got into a little argument.

The second day was spent with us eating red velvet cake whilst binge watching Lost in Space. Then going out to Red Lobster (fancy) to have lunch. The waitress gave me a hulking glass of carmel icecream for my birthday, which I shared with my mom.

The third day consisted of us all eating out together, as a family again, whole. Then my my got into her moving truck, and went back to Indiana. The visit at the time, was okay, but now I only find it to be unfulfilling.

I haven’t seen my mom face to face for edging on 3 years now. We barely text, the longest we’ve went without getting in contact with each other being a solid 5 months.

14 was a pretty chill. Not much actually happened. Just me off and on again self harming. But then 15 hit like a semi-truck out of nowhere.

My cutting worsened again, and suicidal thoughts were common. I began planning, oddly enough, during a church service. Two nights later, I had a stack of notes. 7 letters addressed to the people in my life. Mom, my dad, Nana, Papa, my brother, my cousin, and my friends. 

I put on a jacket, popped a few extra relief Advil, and chewed them. Washed it down with a gulp of water. Stuffed my jacket pocket with my letters, the other with a knife. Went into the backyard, locked the door behind me, and went through the ditch to get to the road. And I made my way to my old school, where I made my two (and only) best friends. 

I swung on the playground for a bit, before pulling out the knife. I had planned to stab myself.

Kinda weird that all my close calls have been with knives, and stabbing. Don’t know what that’s about. Though it is kinda the only thing around, so...

Yeah. I played chicken again. Instead of going ahead and just doing it, I called up the good old national suicide hotline. Talked to a yound dude from Maryland for about an hour while walking the park track. Hung up, threw the notes and knife into a nearby trashcan, and decided I still felt terrible. In result of the awful feeling, I text a familiar friend. 741-741, whilst I walked back home. Once I made it to the backyard, I ended the conversation with the person on the other side. It was around 3 when I got back to my backyard. I locked the backdoor in hopes of not being able to turn back. Too bad, though. 

I sat on the porch step, waiting to be found... Only for about 20 minutes before becoming increasingly antsy, to the point of pacing back and forth and crying.

Deciding I couldn’t wait until someone found me outside, I started calling people. My cousin, my brother, nana, and papa. None answered, but hey-

I remembered my aunt worked night shift, so I rang her. She answered, I remember blurting out her name. She asked who it was, and I told her. She heard me sobbing and asked what was wrong, and like ripping off a band-aid I told her I tried to kill myself.

She took emergency leave off work, drove to get me, I climbed over the fence to her car, and she drove back to her workplace to get her belongings. And it was such a relief. She was so understanding, she didn’t seem bothered that I interrupted her work, she even told me about her own experience attempting suicide. We drove to her house. 

Turns out my cousin did wake up, and she was greeted by my very worrying voicemails. My aunt brought me into her house, and I was suddenly bombarded by both my cousins hugging me to death. Things were tense, the atmosphere was crushing, so I did what I do best and made sarcastic jokes about my almost-suicide. Yeah, nobody liked that much. The time was nearing 4 in the morning, so we all stayed up and had early coffee. I sat in the kitchen and ate my crusty toast whilst my cousin tried to interrogate me. 

I had to get home. My grandparents were going to be awake soon, and I wanted to get to them before they got to my voicemails first. My aunt drove me back, with my cousin sitting with me. Dread was my most present emotion.

We knocked on the door, my grandma answered. She had clearly just gotten up, the knocking being what woke her. My aunt did the talking for me, trying to break the news as gently as possible, ya know how it is when you have a suicidal kid. At this point I was all nerves, and I was doing some serious crying. My grandma played the voicemails out loud, which was... to be completely honest, absolutely humiliating. I was sniveling, sobbing, and whimpering when I had called. It was so pathetic. Even at the time it was embarrassing, which made me cry harder. I just put my head down on the table with my arms being my cushion. 

My cousin stepped in, trying to smooth things over, but only managed to insult my grandma. She made my aunt and cousin leave. I was left alone. My grandpa had awoken and arrived to the scene. They told me to move to the livingroom. 

They wanted my phone. They wanted to look through. They were gonna see my friends, all my conversations with them. That might not be a problem, except for the fact one of my friends is trans and the other bi. And my grandparents, well, they think Harry Potter is witchcraft and DnD is demonic. I expected bad things to go down if they found out. (Christians aren’t bad, you can have your beliefs, it’s just the fact that being vehemently against some people seems... not very Christian?) 

I wasn’t about to let them have my phone. That was where all my private things are. They saw that I was being stubborn, not giving them my password. So they grounded me, and each time I refused, they upped it a week. I didn’t care, I wasn’t about to let them onto my phone. That is until they threatened to just call our phone company and get them to unlock the phone. (Don’t even know if that’s something you can do, but I was scared in the moment) So, I gave in and gave them my password. And with that, they looked through it all. They saw the stuff about my friends.

I just wanted it to stop, so I asked them if I could take a nap. Since I hadn’t slept at all due to my “attempt”. A few hours later I woke up to them telling me to get ready, we were going to the hospital. So I pulled my shoes back on and got in the car.

I got into the hospital bed, and slept. I didn’t want to face my grandparents. Couldn’t sleep forever though. They questioned me more, until the fateful question. “Are you even a Christian?” And I, of course, immediately said yes. 

Time passed, our preacher was called. I think it kinda shows something when I’m more relieved to have him around than my grandparents. I was more comforted around him. He told me that God loved me. How nice.

My grandparents eventually called my mom. And my friends were brought up. The thing is, is my mom knows the secret behind my friends, and she confirmed what my grandparents suspected. The result, I could never talk to my friends again. That kinda upset me, not gonna lie.

Finally, after 48 hours in the hospital, a room in a nearby behavioral/mental facility opened up and they drove me there by ambulance. I got signed in, gave my consent along with my grandparents.

Then they made me undress and squat and that good stuff. Just checking for safety, I suppose. By the time I arrived at the place, it was 7. So all they had left for the day was shower time, snack time, and then lights out. 

I won’t go into detail about my stay there, other than the fact it was probably some of the most chill times I’ve had. Even if the place is only rated 1 star... 👀

After a week, I packed my bags and went home. I was reintroduced to therapy and new medication. Things sorta smoothed over. I reinstalled Instagram and talked to my friends.

The messages they sent once they knew what I had planned were certainly enough to make me feel guilty. I had worried them so much. My cousin had gotten in contact with them and told them what she knew. Though, while I was away, my aunt and cousin had got into a scuffle with my grandparents. So my grandparents told them not to talk to them. My cousin was pretty much in the dark as much as my friends. So, I texted her as well.

Lets fast forward to now. Good ol’ 2021. I have yet again relapsed and carved the words die, fat, pig into my thighs. Though those are older. The newer ones (are still healing) are ugly, fraud also on my thighs. I’m just really tired. I’ve made this stupid essay just in hopes that someone notices me. I want somebody to know I existed. There’s only about 18 people who know I’m alive, and only 8 of those 18 would ever grieve over my death. 

Suicide is selfish. But isn’t it also selfish to force someone to stay w when they are suffering? Most people would retort by saying, “Your suffering won’t last forver!” but to that I say, I’ve been dealing with this weight since 11 and now I’m like, 2 months away from being 17. It’s felt like forever. I see no future. I don’t make plans for the day, or the week. Every action I take, everything- is layered with a dissatisfaction. An unease that never fully fades. I want relief.

I’d reckon it’s safe to say that social media is an important part in most teenagers’ lives these days. An integral part, really. Now, I didn’t get a phone until I was 12 but I still was on Youtube through my 3DSback before I had a phone. Yeah, not the best but...

Youtube makes me happy. If I’m ever to crack a laugh, it’s when I’m on there. And a lot of my childhood memories are watching Youtube with my brother. Things like Chocolate Rain, Imma Firin Mah Lazer, Numa Numa, Sky Does Minecraft, Stampy, DanTDM, Pewds, Jack, Mark, just a lot of popular youtubers back then. My memories from my childhood are pretty scrappy, but I know I was happy. I’d love to go back to those days.

Youtube is extremely important to me. It’s my main source of entertainment, brief happiness (very unhealthy, I know) and it serves as a great distraction. Things as of recent that I’ve watched are people from the DSMP, Moriah Elizabeth, Michael Reeves, penguinz0, Simply Nailogical, Jazza, Cody Ko, Nerdecrafter and many more I can’t be bothered to list. All entertaining, all good distractions. There was this one dumb tiktok that was like, “reasons to keep living” or something and it listed stuff planned for the DSMP and I was like, “oh yeah”-

Something like that gave me pause. How dumb is that? It doesn’t matter. It’s a story made from block men. I realize I should probably hang on, just wait this out. But I’m struggling. There are reasons to live, like the fact that my mom said if I ever killed myself, then she would too. Cousin said the same thing. My friends would be devastated. The funeral would be a burden. If I kept on, I could do so much. I could finally slap some motivation into myself to get my drivers permit, I could graduate highschool, I could finish all these stories I’ve had in my phone forver. I could do a lot of things. But I won’t. Thinking about those things doesn’t make me excited for the future, just burdened. 

Everybody has regrets. I feel like I have more than average. I’m jaded toward my brother and cousin. I say things I want to take back but can’t. I know I hurt them. I wish I could’ve talked to my mom more often, than waiting months to text her. I wish my relationship with my grandma was better. Wish I was closer to my grandpa. I do them wrong, all of them, a lot of the time. But they put up with me. I know if I do this, it won’t be forgiven. It will always hurt them. It goes to show my nature, when all I think to that is, “I won’t be around to feel bad about it”. 

Guess that’s all.


End file.
